


A Touch of Madness

by Star_dancer54



Series: Dear god old stuff. Like, seriously old. [28]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Self-Mutilation, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-19
Updated: 2005-09-19
Packaged: 2019-02-14 09:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13005228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_dancer54/pseuds/Star_dancer54
Summary: In these times, his mind shatters like glass.





	A Touch of Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Slythindor100

The scar on his arm brings about a sickness in his mind. It makes the world feel more like a dream than reality, what with the sudden visions of that gothic house atop the hill above the graveyard. Terror tears through him and he feels like an ancient oak that is losing its leaves far too soon. 

In these times, his mind shatters like glass.

In these times, he finds solace in making his blood rain from his splintered veins, spatter on the string that tied him to reality, then drip in fascinating patterns on the cold stone floor.

In these times, he is truly mad.

It terrifies him. His heart feels like a butterfly trapped in a killing jar. It flutters against the cage of his ribs with paper wings and makes him want to scream.

Sometimes he does scream. Then they force the potion down his throat, and that makes everything go blank and limp and dead.

He tries not to scream often. Instead, he thinks of other times. 

He pushes feebly at the memory of the graveyard with thoughts of random things, such as one of the stranger wank magazines that Dudley had had the last time he was there. He wonders again what had possessed his cousin to steal a magazine full of pictures with women doing obscene things with straw hat-bedecked donkeys. He shudders at the thought and tries for something better.

His mind latches on to something, finally. Or, at least, he thinks it does. But the decision of distracting himself is stolen. The door is opening.

The door is opening, and his Pan, his Dionysus, his addiction and his soul is stepping in. He can see his joy of reunion mirrored in his mate’s eyes, and the fractured pieces of his mind begin to meld back together again. 

The scene freezes for a drawn out breath.

His eyes flicker over the slim body before him, his eyes flicking back up to those warm eyes like a moth to a candle’s flame. They almost burn him with their intensity. 

He stands, unsteadily, leaning against the far wall. His mate strides rapidly to him, and they are finally touching again. He curls up in the blond’s arms and feels tears rise to his eyes.

“Draco? I thought-“

A soft noise is the answer. “The rumor of my death was rather off in its timing. I apologize, love.”

He shudders, and that beloved voice echoes through his mind. He closes his eyes, then opens them on-

Nothing. 

Oh, Circe’s damnation. He starts to crumple, crying, sobbing, lost... Gone, gone…

“Harry?”

Never to be seen again…

“HARRY.” 

Never to feel those warm arms again…

“Love, wake up!”


End file.
